Fall
by reen212000
Summary: McShep slash. There are many places to claim your lover.
1. Nape

I usually don't write slash, but this is one of three on sganoticeboard on Live Journal.

John's deceptively soft hair comes to a point nearly dead center of his ridiculously long neck. Seriously, men should not have such elegant necks. I rest my chin on the knob of his spine, pulling him closer. A sated John is a pliable John, and every time I get the chance, I hold him for as long as I can. Closing my eyes, I let myself drift, inhaling the scent of that spot at the nape of his neck.

John has already claimed his spot on my body, and I think I've found mine. I wonder if he likes my lips against his skin the same way I love his smile against the hollow of my neck. Something about the smell of sweat, shampoo, and his own unique scent drive me insane. Lying here, I hear him mumble something about thinking too much. Whatever.

Before I know it, I'm calculating ratios of pressure to repetitivness. Amazingly enough, John doesn't bruise easily, and if this is going to work... I begin with a kiss, followed by a bite. By increasing pressure and suction, my goal is achieved; I hear John let out a little whimper. He melts against me with a contented sigh, drifting back to sleep. I let my lips curve against my spot and follow him into a well-earned rest.

88888888888

Morning dawns clear and bright and far too soon. John's late for a meeting with Lorne, and claims my mouth unchastely. In the blink of an eye, he's gone.

After berating a few of my staff of fifth graders, I march off to the mess hall for a refill and breakfast. John is waiting by the door, leaning against the wall. It always amazes me how the tilt of his hips is in exact correlation to the crookedness of his smile. Without a word, he leads the way inside.

He had taken to wearing that stiff black military shirt as of late – not that I mind – but today he's wearing a plain black tee shirt. John stands in front of me, talking about something; I've stopped listening. My pulse quickens, and I try to hide my accomplished – screw that! – proud, satisfied, and downright smug grin.

John's hair comes to a point at the nape of his ridiculously long neck. The usually snug collar of the shirt dips a bit, revealing an oval-shaped mark.


	2. Hollow

To say I've had a long day would be an obvious understatement. I stumble down the corridor, counting the steps to my quarters. The final ten feet is the hardest – all I want is a shower and my bed. My door whispers open before I reach it; Atlantis must be feeling sorry for me. Staggering over the threshold, I start stripping before the door fully closes.

By the time I reach the shower, it's on and waiting for me. Kinda nice having a city at your beck and call. The perfect temperature always. As I stand under the spray, I feel a presence enter to my right, but my eyes have closed and refuse to open. I know it's Rodney; I can feel his nervous tension. He steps in the shower behind me, catching my swaying body with large and steady hands.

It's funny that no one ever thinks Rodney McKay can be considerate and gentle. That's my secret, and I don't plan on sharing that fact. Why he deals with my various issues is beyond me; but I think I'll keep him for a while. He kisses the knob of my spine; I guess that's his spot. Not that I'm complaining.

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he maneuvers our bodies under the spray, mumbling about my skinny ass and using up all the hot water. Rodney always has something to complain about; I let it wash over me like the water flowing over my skin.

My eyes still refuse my commands to open, and I feel my knees start to buckle. But I never fall; Rodney holds me upright, whispering in my ear. I know he's got me and the fight has gone out of me. He directs my hand to one of those ever-present handrails, and I hold on for dear life. I place the other one his broad shoulder as he lathers soap over my body.

With sure, firm strokes, Rodney's hands are everywhere. I know I have a stupid smile on my face; he told me so. He bullies me back under the spray to rinse my hair. The rest of my tension goes down the drain with the soap. I turn into his embrace, planting my face right in the hollow of his neck. The skin there is wet and sweet and soft, one of the softest places on Rodney's body. There are other places that are softer, but that's none of your damn business.

My favorite side of his neck is the left side. There's a mole just under his jawline. When I smash my nose against it, I can feel every word he says. My hands find their usual places; my right on his hip, and my left resting on the other side of his neck, thumb tracing his jaw.

The spray shuts off, leaving me shivering against his body. Rodney's like a furnace, perpetually warm. Sometimes, like now, I want to crawl into his skin and finally get warm. I open my eyes to watch him frown at me. He guides us out to dry off; the towels are rough against my overly sensitive skin. Scrubbing my hair dry, Rodney smiles at me with that sweet, crooked mouth.

He pulls me closer, and I find my spot effortlessly. The vibration of his voice along his throat, and the movement of his jaw lull me into a fugue state. Honestly, I have no idea what he's saying. But it doesn't matter where I am, who I am, or what I am. I squeeze his warm, solid body, trying not to seem desperate for his touch.

When he finally squeezes back, my world melts away.


	3. Requisitioned

I was enjoying the nicest dream I've had all year, when I felt something coil around my neck. Opening my eyes to darkness, I try to get my bearings. The right side of my body is numb underneath the weight of... Sheppard. Ah. John had stayed after one of the most arousing, most dangerous encounters we'd had to date. A twinge in my back reminded me of how it all began.

John is not one to be very physical, but today, it was a way to reaffirm life. We nearly died. Okay, I know you're thinking, "Yeah. It's like every day you almost die."

Shut up.

This time, no amount of last-minute tinkering, weapons fire, or outthinking would sway a mega-storm on a backwater planet. We arrived back in Atlantis more battered than bruised, and exhausted. Our clothes had been nearly shredded on our bodies by flying debris in the wind, and completely soaked. Lightning had struck the ground near Sheppard, and threw him against a less than sturdy tree. I watched him tumble ass over tea kettle a number of times before I tried to run after him. Ronon grabbed me, then ran to catch that skinny idiot before the wind carried him away.

Closing my eyes now, I picture Conan holding up the Scarecrow by his collar. Those hazel eyes dizzily cast in my direction, followed by a lazy smile. Then John had promptly leaned over and puked up everything he ever ate in his life. When he was done, I fished out a handkerchief, and futilely wiped the rain off his face. As vengeance for my actions, the weather worsened, pouring a bucket of water over the planet.

By the time we got to the gate, the four of us were leaning heavily on each other. Ronon led me over to the DHD; I extracted my hand from his arm, but kept my left arm around John. I had tried my best to ignore the blood trickling down his temple, but it darkened my shirt as he lay his head against me. The event horizon whooshed as usual, unperturbed by the raging storm around it.

After the normal post-mission checks, Carson released us to our quarters. I didn't want to let John out of my sight, even if the cut on his head wasn't serious. I never want to wish Sheppard would stay in the infirmary, but this time I did. He was still loopy from his fight with the wind. Carson said he was just exhausted. But when John starts babbling on about Atlantis and missing his City, I get concerned.

See? I do care.

We wore scrubs after being released, as our BDUs did not survive the ordeal. Their strange greenish hue made John's eyes look gold; they reminded me of my cat. His hair was still damp from the storm and the quick shower Carson let us take before donning our scrubs, and of course sticking up every which way.

I had steered him toward my quarters, hoping no one would stop us. Just as I waved my hand over the sensor, I felt cold hands fisted in my shirt. John had covered my mouth in a searing kiss, and dragged me inside. Before I knew it, he had my shirt off, and his cold cheek pressed against my stomach. My back was pressed against the cold ornate wall of my room, and I grabbed John's muscled arms, pulling him back up to my lips.

What? He was cold and I had a plan.

The lights were dim, but I could still see the thin ring of those intensely gold irises staring back at me. I pushed him down on the bed, and everything became non-existent when he wrapped those legs around me. John has the ability to rip me from all space and time and dimension with the intensity of his touch. The hardened soldier was gone, leaving behind a lustful, wanton teenager. Yes, yes. I'm a lucky sonofabitch.

Two hours later, I'm being strangled by a heavy arm near my throat. I move my numb arm in hopes that John will wake slightly, just enough to allow movement. Finally, he scoots closer, hand resting on my shoulder, face buried in my neck. I pull the covers up over us, attempting to get John warm again. I'm beginning to suspect this is all I'm good for. Rodney McKay, human teddy bear, blanket, and all around good time.

I chuckle to myself; his arm tightens around me. Seriously, someone so skinny should not be this strong. In an attempt to loosen his grip, I gently stroke his forearm. The fine soft hair is mesmerizing, but it's the skin at the crook of his elbow that intrigues me. Moving my fingers along the warm skin of his arm, I briefly touch the raised scar I usually try to avoid. It's still faintly blue, and each year, it gets a little smaller. As soon as my fingers linger on it, John jerks his arm away. Even in sleep, he's still ashamed of it. He grumbles against my neck, and eventually turns from my embrace.

I doubt he even realizes it, but it makes me unaccountably sad. To know there's a part of him I can't have, and will probably never have. And I don't think I like it.

Pushing myself up, I make out his outline in the moonlight. We have two moons now; I hate to admit he looks even better in their purplish glow. With a finger, I trace his stubbly jaw. I love the way he turns into my hand when I touch him. He always seems so unapproachable in daylight hours, but every once in a while I catch a look in my direction. John's chameleon-like expressions often flee before I can identify them.

I take his limp arm in my hand, and bend to kiss the inside of his wrist, and work my way down... up, whatever. When I get to the scar, I kiss it lightly. John tries to pull away, but I hold his arm firmly against my mouth. His eyes open; I feel them burning a hole in the side of my face. In my usual defiance, I raise my eyes to look at him. While he's staring at me, I kiss the scar again. His cold stare makes me shudder, but I won't be deterred. He knows how single-minded I am; this is one task I will see to the end.

Closing my eyes, I lick a stripe over the rough surface of his scar. Nipping the skin beside it, I pull my mouth away. Right away, I continue my quest to the crook of his elbow, inhaling my third favorite scent that is all John Sheppard. I kiss the tiny scabs left by Carson's needles, and he finally reacts.

John places both hands on either side of my face, tracing my cheekbones with his thumbs. With one sudden movement, he pulls me down to his lips for a semi-chaste kiss.

I'm not that chaste. He may have started it, but I'm damn well gonna finish it.

--

Great. It's morning again. I wake up to chest hair tickling my nose, and a hand idly carding through my hair.

"I wish it would go away," John says in a rough, sleepy voice.

I glance up, squinting against the sunlight pouring into my room. He's staring at the scar left by the crazy queen catfish vampire turned bug. Before he has a chance to move his arm out of my reach, I grab hold of it. After a brief struggle, I bring it to my lips again.

John's breath hitches; I can feel his chest against my ear. Several kisses later, when I feel I have completely laid claim to that spot on his skin, I blindly find his lips. Soon, his hands are in my hair, and my tongue is searching for cavities.

On either side of the bed, a familiar chirp sounds. For exactly twelve hours, the chief scientist and the chief military officer were forgotten. He kisses my forehead, smiling against my heated skin.

Simultaneously, we reach for our radios, rising from opposite sides of the bed.


	4. Bloodstream

I don't usually write song fics, but this is one of my favorite songs. It kinda captures the angsty-ness of this concluding ficlet. For divineway, who is always evil.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Bloodstream by Stateless

_Wake up look me in the eyes again _

_I need to feel your hand upon my face _

_Words can relay nice _

_They can cut you open _

_And the silence surrounds you and hunts you _

_I think I might've inhaled you _

_I could feel you behind my eyes _

_You've gotten into my bloodstream _

_I could feel you floating in me_

8-8-8-8-8-8-8

_Sheppard!_ The Colonel yells. _Get it together, Soldier!_

The Colonel isn't the nicest mind-voice one can have, but he does keep me in line. Today, of all days, he's been screaming at me, telling me to keep it together. But I feel like I'm falling to pieces all the same.

I've had the same dream every night for a week. The one time Rodney is beside me, I wake up in a panic. My own strangled cry seems to echo in the darkness of my quarters, and I'm praying Rodney didn't hear that. I lay back, shivering in my sweat-dampened clothes, waiting for some guy to stop breathing so loudly and harshly.

Rodney's broad, heavy hand drifts up to my shoulder, startling me more than I care to admit. "'S matter?" he mumbles. He's back asleep before I can draw a breath. His hand slips off and away from me, and something terrible stirs deep inside me that I prefer to ignore.

I can't afford to be one of those – people – who need validation, or encouragement. Or... whatever. Look, it's no secret that I'm bad with feelings and emotions. This is why he and I work. This is why we can be together. We have an unspoken bond, and it makes everything cohesive.

As I lay here getting colder by the minute, I realize I have to move. Get out of this shirt, wash my face, curl up in a ball until the next crisis. _Something._

But I can't leave his side.

Logical, rational me says it's the middle of the night, and Rodney's not going anywhere. However, crazy, paranoid me is whispering he will leave me. Sure, he's left in the middle of the night before on one technical breakdown or other. I've done the same.

These stupid, vivid dreams have me clinging to him like a lovestruck teenager. The thought of his retreating back steals my breath, and I cover my face with shaky hands. I need to breathe, move around. _Stare obsessively at his sleeping form until the sun comes up..._

With a frustrated sound, I roll out of bed and stagger to the bathroom. Asking The City for the coldest water she can conjure up, I plunge my head under the faucet, letting the shock of the cold water chase away my feelings of abandonment and remorse. It's giving me a headache, distracting me from a deeper pain.

"You okay?" Rodney startles me again, dragging me out of my spiral of despair.

God. When did I become EmoJohn? It's really disturbing.

I watch rivulets of water run over my hands, not sure if I responded. His sturdy warm hands are on me, guiding me to sit. He scrubs my hair nearly dry, yawning all the time.

"Bad dream?" he asks, his beautiful blue eyes full of concern.

Closing my eyes against the sting, I can't look at him just now. I am accutely ashamed of my behavior. Nodding once in answer, I curl my hands into fists, squeezing hard in order not to shatter.

Soft, crooked lips brush against my forehead. "You look really tired. Feel okay?"

"Yeah," I say shortly, but I can barely hear myself over the screaming in my head. Stop looking at me that way! Stop caring!

Stupid dreams. I can't shake the feeling. One way or another, he's going to leave me. _When? How? Where?_ asks the voice in my head. _Why?_

Before I can stop him, Rodney pulls me up, one hand around my wrist, the other at my waist. Leading me out of the bathroom, we shuffle back to the bed. I feel so disconnected, like I haven't fully awakened, and this is all a dream. I sit heavily on the bed, staring at my hairy toes, a shiver races down my spine.

I hear Rodney's knee crack when he kneels down between my legs. "Hey, hey," he says softly. "What's wrong? What did you dream about?"

"The usual," I shrug, hoping my face is as impassive as my voice. Judging by his sleepy frown, I'm not as successful as I'd like to think.

"This shirt needs to come off," he says, swiftly and expertly removing the article of clothing. Holding a fresh clean shirt, I watch his frown turn into a scowl. "You've lost weight. Again."

"I, um..." What? Didn't think you'd notice? Didn't think you cared? No response will be good enough for him. Curling up into a ball doesn't sound like a bad idea right now.

"Look. Something has been going on with you all week." Rodney sat next to me; I fought the urge to curl around him and hold on for dear life. Instead, I just lay my head on his shoulder. With a sigh, he grabs my hand. "Come on. Lie back. It's way too early to be so serious."

I can't deal with this.

I'm better than this mopey, sullen person that's wearing my face.

I am a lieutenant colonel in the United States Air Force. I've flown in storms worse than the one in my head.

I don't need to be comforted or coddled.

I don't need to feel safe and warm.

I... I... I...

I melt into his arms as he gathers my traitorous body closer. He kisses my temple and the nape of my neck. Soon, he's snoring in my ear, and I can't think of any other place to be.

Alive and well. Safe and warm.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8

I wake to staring deep blue eyes. Mustering up a smile, I turn onto my side, facing him. He gently places a hand on my cheek. All those bad feelings that crammed every corner of my mind last night have been temporarily shelved.

"You were talking in your sleep." His eyes are clear and sad and peeling away the last layer of dignity I'm hiding behind. "You do know you're stuck with me, right?"

Swallowing the biggest lump in my throat, I try to look nonchalant, even confident. And failing miserably. "Same here," I say. That was really lame. What exactly did I say last night?

"That's interesting. Because, according to Sleeptalker John, I'm leaving him." _Great._ Now he's staring at me like I'm one of his proofs. "Why would I do that?"

I take a shuddering breath and move away, but I don't get far. His sturdy, and heavy body is pinning me in place.

"Sorry, Colonel. That look won't work on me right now." I'm not sure what he's referring to, but I'm sure it can't be good. When he's sure I won't move he props himself up on an elbow. He's still too close, and way too intense. "Why, Shep– John?"

Oh, God. First name. He's about to lay into me, and I think I deserve it.

"You think I could do better?" He continues, and manages not to raise his voice. "If anything, you'll leave me first. Believe me, I've been waiting for that since day one."

"What?" I say; well, squeak anyway. I'm not escaping him now.

"You heard me. Is this what the recklessness, and the not eating, and the avoiding is about?" I feel the air around him crackle; either he's had his coffee already, or he's really mad at me. And I find it painfully touching.

_Dammit._ EmoJohn strikes again.

Glancing away, I study the texture of the wall across the room. "I... well... The thing is–"

"You said I don't need you. Last night. In your sleep. I'm surprised I don't have bruises from you. It took me a good ten minutes to make you let go of my arm."

I cover my face with my hands; an insane laugh bubbles up from somewhere, and I _cannot_ stop it. How did all my insecurities come out all in one night?

"This is by far the most pathetic display of love you have shown to date, Sheppard." Now he's laughing too. I want to stop, just so I can hear him. It's one of my favorite sounds.

Before long, he's kissing away my laughter, and more than eager to allay my ridiculous fears.

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The End.

Thanks for reading! Clickey reviewy!


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